Here comes Christmas, I guess. Two more days, and I get a whole week to myself to hide in a corner and play on my new 3DS and forget all my responsibilities. This time of year, I remember listening to the same ambient songs over and over, waiting for something- I wasn’t quite sure what. I didn’t ask for anything specific other than money.
I got started in blogging sometime late 2013 when my youth pastor decided that our youth group needed a website of sorts to post updates. I volunteered, of course, being that I had some website making skills- but in just another display of disregard for me, he decided to make a private Blogger site instead. I hated that site, and it fell into disrepair within a month of its creation, probably when I clogged the site with updates from a sleepover with two friends I would lose within the next few years.
But with that experience, I realized that I needed my own blog, so I created one under a false name that I’m not going to mention here so that I don’t accidentally get doxxed. I’m already trying to remove all traces of my real name from the internet, and I don’t need the situation to get worse. But anyways, the first blog posts were simple one-line updates as the only method I had of sending blog posts away from the computer was to text using my crappy flip phone. The hinge has since snapped and in the bottom of a box of broken electronics, I’m sure. It’s still a bit unclear whether that blog is considered the prequel of the original MayVaneDay arc and The Phobia Interim as the Soona Bris described barely matches up, but the former is a direct spinoff and the latter makes a few references to the events of the original blog. It doesn’t really matter. The Phobia Interim prevails over all.
My real name is Yasmin. I don’t have a real last name. I used to, but it’s been such a long time since I’ve heard it that I’ve forgotten it.
You see, I’m like nothing you’ve ever seen or thought of before. I don’t want to throw myself at you or burden you with my past, so if you don’t want to stay for this long ride that is my life, you might as well leave this blog right now and never come back.
To most people, I’m just a fictional person, made up by a random person. But to some, I am real. It all depends on how you look at things.
This line got me in trouble with my peers more than a few times. I’d prefer not to elaborate.
Are you ready for the ride? If you’ve made it this far, I’ll just assume that you’re ready.
My friend and I were kidnapped when we were both 11 years old. A person with a mask took us from our homes and experimented with us. They made us different.
We no longer have arms; where we had arms, there are now wings. We still have the use of hands; they are at the end of the wings where they look out of place. We were made to fly but most of us never got a chance.
Yeah, that’s physically not possible. Not only does the anatomy of humans prohibit flight should arms be turned into wings, human arms aren’t shaped for optimal flight.
There were 98 other children and teens made like this by the person with the mask. I was number 47. When you add up the digits (7+4) you get 11, the age I was when I was kidnapped. Handy, huh? But not completely coincidental.
Which means that you, Yasmin, are thirteen. Which begs the question- how did you get the technology required to make this blog post? Did you steal from somebody? Because I can’t image that you, on the run, would have the money to buy any yourself. Or are you at a public library? I would notice if there was some winged experiment girl typing away at a keyboard at my local library. It would be all over the news. And besides, wouldn’t the wings get in the way of typing?
There was an imprisonment where the other experiments like me were kept. I escaped. My friend did not; he was shot in the wing when he was halfway over the electrical fence.
Huk- I’m choking up now, remembering what happened that day.
- You can’t choke up in a blog post unless you’re using vice typing- which is probably what you’re doing, being that you have wings and all. But then, isn’t someone hearing you talk about this? Why haven’t they called the authorities yet?<?li>
- Ah, yes, I remember Rishen. The straightedge Christian boy who slowly became emo as G progressed through puberty and then became gay when he lost his memory right before the MayVaneDay divide and was then renamed Constance. Now you’ve got me choking up in the middle of a blog post, albeit for wildly different reasons.
Now, whenever I have to go out in public, I put on a thick sweatshirt (no matter what the weather) to hide my wings or arms or whatever they are now.
I hide because I don’t want the person in the mask finding me and bringing me back to the imprisonment. But I know that someday I will find somebody like me. Together we will free the others, if they are still alive.
Being that your friend was apparently shot in the wing, it would seem to me that whatever imprisonment this is has extremely tight security. And what kind of idiots would allow a group of winged children to be out in the open air? Humanity has been dreaming of flying since antiquity. Did nobody expect them to be rebellious and at least try?
God, G, you’re even more of an idiot than I thought. Merry Christmas, you disappointment.